


The Hunter

by chromaggia (endlesseternities)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1980s, 80's Music, 80's fashion, 90's Fashion, 90's Music, Abdominal Wounds, Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Amateurs, Anxiety Attacks, Attempted Murder, Backstory, Bad Jokes, Bandages, Begging, Biting, Blood Loss, Blood and Gore, Bloody Kisses, Body Horror, Body Worship, Bondage, Bruises, Caught Unaware, Confusion, Cutting, Deceased Child, Difficult Decisions, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fire, Foreshadowing, Full Moon, Ghosts, Glam Metal, Graphic Description of Corpses, Guitars, Heart-to-Heart, Hickeys, Hunters & Hunting, Impala, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inspired by Music, Leather, Licking, Loss of Trust, Loss of Virginity, Love/Hate, Mediciation, Mental Breakdown, Mental Institutions, Mind Games, Mindfuck, Mirrors, Necrophilia, Nightmares, Object Destruction, Obsession, Older Man/Younger Woman, Organ Theft, Pain, Painful Sex, Past Relationship(s), Physical Abuse, Pity, Possession, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Rampage - Freeform, Rape, Recovered Memories, Repressed Memories, Research, Rituals, Rivieras, Rock Salt, Rock Stars, Self-Harm, Self-Sacrifice, Sewing Flesh, Shotguns, Soul-Searching, Stalking, Stitches, Straight Razors, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Summoning Circles, Taunting, Telepathic Bondage, Undead, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vintage wedding dresses, Wounds, anguish, graveyards, guitar playing, hair metal, mental manipulation, stolen children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-03-02 14:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13320558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlesseternities/pseuds/chromaggia
Summary: Set one year before season one of the show, this story chronicles what happens to a traumatized seventeen-year-old girl who is mistaken by a deceased rock star as someone he once loved. Unknowingly, her blood and flesh are what he needs to become whole if he desires to live again; as she is committed to a mental institution, she calls upon Dean Winchester to consult him in what she knows to be his 'family business.' Through his efforts, it is up to him to help her become safe from the 'hunter' before he becomes closer to devouring his prey. 18+





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by two things: 1) Mr. Scary himself, George Lynch and 2) the song "The Hunter" by my favorite 80's band, Dokken. From 1980 to 1998, he was in the band as the lead guitarist. I dunno, it's just that his off-beat personality seemed intriguing enough to use as the personification of the story's villain. He was really good at playing back riffs in the day, but now he just sounds little less than half of what he used to. Google him if you don't believe me and feel free to listen to the song.
> 
> Now I'm telling you--- there will obviously be elements that aren't used in the television show. I am just letting you all know this in advance, as there could be potential triggers. I apologize, but I really like writing my stories dark. I do not own the characters, settings, places and such from "Supernatural," as it all belongs to Eric Kripke. I only own the few original characters, and this is not written for profit, but for fun.

_- **October 2004** \- _

 

My headphones had fallen out and when I turned in my sheets, I grasped onto the pillow. My pulse was racing and I could feel a weight, pressing me, dropping onto me as I thrashed. My eyes were closed and felt as though they were wired shut. I could feel it coming again--- a blinding, searing pressure so close.

_No, no, goddamn it, no. I don’t need this right now, no not when I’m getting close to being thrown into a hell house. Please, no--- I can’t take it anymore_.

‘ _Keep your eyes closed, baby. It’ll be alright; there’s going to be a little blood perhaps, but you’re safe with me. That’s it_ ,’ I could hear it saying. ‘ _Keep your eyes closed and hold me_ …’

Then the pain came. The white, blaring pain that I’d been so fearful of. Between my legs, I could feel the presence shifting down. There was nothing physically penetrating me, but I could feel it. Long, thick, dark and wet with fluid. I screamed and screamed, with each time my throat growing hoarse and softer.

Now the wetness of a tongue was present on my throat. It was clearly there and yet, it wasn’t. Invisible hands groped my breasts and tweezed my flesh. _Oh God_ , I thought to myself.  _I’m being raped, I know it._

‘ _Quiet, baby, you don’t want your mom to hear us, do you?_ ’

“Get off me!”

Teeth came then and raked my skin. I could feel myself growing wet between my legs, and how I hated myself for it. My tears were flowing wildly now and I couldn’t shake the feeling away. The weight pressed down harder and I felt myself being physically shoved against my headboard.

My heart, as I felt, was going to give out. My medication was rampant through my body, and with the way I was being attacked, I wished that I had some god to pray to in order to relieve me. Now as I felt the pain singing there, I cried.

_“GET AWAY!”_

“Veronica?”

I tried to sit up but I couldn’t move. The thing was there and it wouldn’t let me move at all. My lips were bloodied, my hair was rattled and with every time I tried to move, the pushing, the pounding--- it was utterly taking me and I couldn’t stop it.

“Veronica, what the hell are you doing!”

The door to my bedroom opened and in walked my mother. I felt the pounding stop and when I opened my eyes, my mother’s grave look was there. She had numerous circles under her eyes. She was an insomniac at the best of times, and a drunk always. Sitting up, I felt my lips quiver. Her hand was on the doorknob and the other was on her hip.

“Mom, please---”

She looked at the sheets as she walked over towards me, then with her false nails, ripped back the sheets. Her mouth dropped open, not in worry, but in disgust. I was confused for the moment until I looked down and saw it. Red blood, colorful as an apple, sitting fresh on my inner thighs. It did not come from between my legs, but from the numerous cuts that were there. She must have thought that I had been 'playing' with myself, but I wasn't. My vision blurred in and out and I couldn’t see anything clearly.

“Goddamn it! What have I told you about harming yourself!”

I didn’t have much time to think before my head hit the pillow, and I was bleeding out with the knowledge that I hadn’t harmed myself in the slightest.

\--

“Veronica, you need to stop worrying. The doctor has said that there’s nothing to worry about. It’s nerves and with the Niravam, all of your attacks will stop. Now go to bed, won’t you?”

My hands were twisting the covers. My nails were clawing at the bed sheets and I could feel my knuckles stiffening, my breasts heaving with my chest. I’d told her how I couldn’t breathe and still, she braced it as if it were a simple attack. Lightning flashed and my eyes were momentarily blinded with white-purple.

My mother walked towards the door and shut the light off. Her shadow stood in the doorway, and with more flashing outside, the drops of rain on the glass looked heavier and darker. With one hand, she stood there and sighed. I was biting my lips fiercely, almost to the point where the gashes I’d inflicted beforehand were multiplied. I could taste the iron and it left a stinging retort upon my buds.

“If you’re still not feeling good, I’ll take you back in the morning.”

I shook my head and sighed. Her tone was as usual and as nonchalant as could be. “If you didn’t want me, why’d you even bother having me then?”

I should’ve expected the hit to come. Rushing my bed, her palm hit the side of my face and when it did, I could feel a bruise lashing to the surface. This wasn’t the first time she’d hit me, but somehow, this time she gave it her all. My lips were broken open completely now. Blood fell onto my white pillow and stained it a deep red. I fell back and looked at her through groggy eyes.

“Oh yes, you’re going back alright. I’ve had it! You’ve been such an ungrateful little bitch since the moment I pushed you out. If your father were here, I’d tell him to take you and leave me the hell out of it.”

The door slammed behind her. The sound of it made me shiver and I wanted nothing more than to sleep, but with the rain, the lightning and the stinging of my face and lips, I couldn’t. Instead, I lay there in my bed and put my headphones in. Music helped me sometimes, but with all the shit I’d gone through, it seemed almost impossible. The heavy metal riffs were only able to drown out so much.

\--

 

When morning came, my mother opened my door and threw my clothes at me. The shirt hit my face and the belt buckle did too.

“Hurry up and bandage yourself. I’ve already called the doctor’s office at the institution, and he said that they’ll take care of your cuts when we get there,” she said coldly.

I shook my head and shouted at her. “Why the hell do you hate me so much?”

She said nothing. It was typical of her to say nothing and give me the most stern look she could possibly muster. It did not bother me, her gaze, but it was just the way she refused to answer me that hurt. She turned and walked down the hall, saying singularly, “Be ready in fifteen minutes.”

I threw the covers back and went into the bathroom, swiping a wet rag over my bruised thighs. The dried blood was swept away and the scent of the rusted iron was strong. Nausea came over me then in a thick wave. My knees buckled. My hands gripped the porcelain rim of the sink and I tried not to vomit.

The stinging sensation came back to my thighs and I felt how red-hot it was.

“Fuck!”

‘ _Hush, baby_ ,’ it said again. ‘ _It’s not right for a young girl to use such language_.’

My eyes turned and my head was poised to look over my shoulder. I couldn’t see him at all, hardly ever, but I could always hear him clear as day.

“Go away, please,” I cried. “Just leave me the hell alone!”

‘ _Oh, don’t you know I can’t, baby? I couldn’t leave you. But why haven’t you called me back? Where have you been? Come on, baby, come home with me_ …’

This voice kept talking to me in such a manner that it made me sick to my stomach. He’d been the voice I heard while I was being raped by a specter, by a thing I couldn’t even see. As I stood up and stared into the mirror, I could feel two large, calloused hands on my breasts as my tank top was being invaded.


	2. Chapter 2

I couldn’t have been more impressed with the doctor’s impeccable timing. He walked into the room and saw my mother sitting there, her hands in her lap, folded and clutching to one another with red knuckles. I was sitting across from her and staring out the window, practicing the moment of when they’d push me into the routine of the fellow inmates.

“Good morning, Mrs. Clairewell,” he said. “How is poor Veronica doing today?”

“Typical,” my mother said. “Bloody, bruised and suicidal as usual.”

I threw a nearby magazine at her face and watched her foil backward. “I’m not suicidal, damn it! Why won’t you listen to me?”

Dr. Carnem snapped his fingers then, and two large orderlies came for me. One took me by the arms, the other by my legs. I was hoisted from the chair in which I sat, and as Carnem followed, my mother smirked and trailed along. The orderlies were taking me down the hallway, turning, quickening. My mother and Carnem were talking among themselves as I tried to pull myself out of the hands of the men.

“We’ll keep her under close observation, Mrs. Clairewell. Suicidal teenagers like these are often deep-rooted in drugs and other sorts of paraphernalia, so we can administer drug tests to see what she’s all on.”

I kicked and kicked until finally the one holding my legs dropped me. With the quick jolt of my head, I snapped it back and clipped the other in the chin. He let go of me and fell onto his ass almost immediately. I started running down the hall in my socks, and slipped once as I turned the corner. Other patients looked at me and one whispered under their breath, “There’s another one trying to make a run.”

“Orderlies, will you please secure Miss Clairewell!” Carnem shouted. “We don’t need her causing public hysteria!”

Before I could shout any more objections, the back of my head was struck and I found myself falling to the floor. The cold linoleum caught me and broke my fall. I felt my bandages scrap against the tiles, and one by one, they were painfully peeled off. Blood welled to the surface again and I found myself in tears.

Carnem and my mother caught up, and when the orderlies came back too, my mother was dishing out green to the doctor. It seemed to be a $800 advance and as I was dangling over a broad shoulder, I could feel half of myself leave my body. The sound of her heels clicked on the floor and Carnem’s face was agleam with pride.

“This won’t hurt so badly if you behave, Miss Clairewell.”

He pat my face somewhat gently, but not before slapping it rough. I spat at him and watched him recoil.

“Eat shit, Carnem.” 

\--

Straps were secured across my legs and my chest, my arms bound down to the side of the table as I saw a light shine over my head. Two nurses were inside the room with Carnem and I felt the sting of hydrogen peroxide on my thighs. I screamed and turned my head to the side as it stinged.

“Bastards!” I screamed.

One nurse held my head straight and the overhead light was blinding me still. Another was pushing a suture through my flesh. It was cold, metallic. I wanted to kick them all but with my legs as bound as they were, it was physically impossible. Each time the suture went through my skin, the woman pulled it hard and the stitching ground together. In order to repress my scream, I bit my lips again until they bled.

“Nearly there,” Carnem said. “If you keep being good, I’ll give you a sweetie.”

 _Disgusting_ \--- I knew exactly what his definition was. “You honestly think I’d be stupid to not realize what you mean by that? _I wouldn’t allow you to touch me no matter how goddamn desperate you got_.”

“Quiet!”

The nurse pulled hard, then snipped at the stitches with a scissors. I wanted to knee her in the face, but ultimately, I didn’t want to risk being gouged by the two blades. My heartbeat was racing harder, beating faster. My tears were falling down my eyes and I couldn’t stop them from coming out. This was like living in hell. Only, I’d been dealing with it for the past year or so, with the man’s voice in my head and my mother only binge-drinking to no end.

After the stitches were put in, they unstrapped me and put me into a new confine. The straight-jacket they had gave me was old, but still fresh. The straps were buckled hard behind my back and I was pulled to my feet. These men were brutes in strength and size, so I found it best to keep my mouth shut. The hallway they drug me through seemed endless. I held my breath the whole way, and when they dropped me into a solitary room, padded of course, my lungs ceased and gave way. I closed my eyes as I hit the floor.

\--

For the first time, I’d actually been able to sleep.

It had been enough that they’d given me a barbiturate too, but more so it’d been terrifying enough to know that now, the drug had given way to make me vulnerable once more. My senses were heightened and yet they were not. My body felt the tingling sensation of horror and the adrenaline came to a halt.

I wanted to keep my eyes closed for the time being, but something woke me up. Arms. Two of them, wrapped and encasing my body in their hold. Then lips. I could feel them against the nape of my neck, whereas they slowly transferred to the side of my throat. The breath that was there was real. I couldn’t see who it was, but I know that they weren’t docile in nature. Once again, the voice entered my ears.

‘ _Baby, they’re so cruel to you, aren’t they? I promise once I’m done with them, they won’t hurt you again_.’

I rolled onto my back and looked around through the placid dark. “Who are you? Why do you keep calling me your ‘baby’?”

The lips now brushed mine and by God, I could taste legitimate whiskey. ‘ _I told you not to worry about it. I’ll take care of them, then once I’ve got the manpower again, I’ll come back for you. I promise_.’

\--

“I want my fucking phone call.”

I slammed my hands down on the table before me, and Carnem seemed perplexed. He gnawed on the tip of his pen and shook his head. Group sessions had just been concluded, and with the other patients leaving, exiting by force or by their own slow intent, I was left alone with the weasel of the place.

“But of course, Miss Clairewell. May I ask who you intend to call?”

I took the roll of quarters out of his hand and bluntly said, “No, you may not.”

Under supervision of course, I was able to make a call. I decided to call someone that I hadn’t seen since I was five years old, and as he had been a boy who’d taken care of me when my mother had gone out or had gone to work. The ringing persisted until finally I got the name I was waiting for.

“ _ **You’ve reached Dean Winchester. Who is it?**_ ”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drug that Dr. Carnem uses on Veronica in this chapter is called Eszopiclone, which is also called Lunesta. It's basically a sedative that's different in structure from a typical benzodiazepine; however, the drug acts on a subset of the benzodiazepine factor known as BZ1. They're a preferred hypnotic, and really, they don't significantly change one's sleep stage, but in this chapter, it 'paralyzes' Veronica while she's having her nightmare/premonition. 
> 
> This chapter also gives you a tiny little bit of the backstory of the deceased rocker. It's also based off of "The Hunter" music video as well. If you watch it, you'll get the reference. Plus, the name of the institution is named after the band "Divinyls" who did the song, "Back to the Wall" for the fourth "Nightmare on Elm Street" film.

“Dean, it’s me--- it’s Veronica. I’m Cathleen Clairewell’s daughter? Remember?”

He almost hesitated on the other end of the line. The hospital’s phone wasn’t exactly up to date, but as I clutched the receiver close by, my hand started to shake.

“ _ Veronica? Yeah, I don’t--- oh no, wait, the girl who had the black pigtails and red tricycle, right? Lived in Lawrence a while back? _ ”

I nodded though obviously he wouldn’t be able to tell. “Yes, that’s me. You used to watch me and Sam together all the time. Um, can I ask you a favor? Can you and Sammy drive up here to the Divinyls Institution? It’s an emergency. I wouldn’t call if I didn’t have any other choice.”

Dean cleared his throat and sounded off-guard. “ _ Whoa, wait--- **an institution?** Look, I would bring Sam but he’s not here right now. He’s at college, studying to be a professional bookworm with files and law tabs _ .”

My heart sank in my chest. The accountant lady across the way sat behind her desk, filing her nails as she snapped her piece of gum between her teeth. Her chewing was louder than hell, and Carnem was coming. I could hear him talking to another nurse down the hallway. My pulse quickened and I found a ball of rough pain forming in my throat.

“Dean, please! I’m locked in here and I don’t have anybody. Please, won’t you come? It’s very important. There are things I can’t wrap my head around and I’m _ terrified _ , just terrified. Please, please come.”

My tears were streaming warm down my face and I could finally see Carnem in sight. 

“Nurse, who said that Ms. Clairewell could call someone!”

Carnem’s pace hurried along and before he drew closer, I heard Dean. “ _ Alright. Stay put and try not to let ‘em break you up. You’re strong, okay? I’ll be there as soon as possible _ .”

“Dean?”

“ _ Yeah? _ ”

“It was good talking to you again.”

I put the receiver back and started to prepare myself for the worst. The two orderlies came around again, and now I could see their name plates. One’s name was Anthony, the other’s name was James. Both were stocky men, and I knew then that my wrists and ankles were to be bound again. With one point of the finger, Carnem instructed them to restrain me. Anthony took my ankles, James took my arms and bound me in the signature white straitjacket. 

“Carnem, I’m sick of this shit!” I screamed. “I swear you’re not going to keep this up. I don’t give a damn if you are a shrink, you can’t treat me like I’m inhuman!”

With a sadist’s smile, he replied, “Oh but I believe I can, and I will. Take her to her room.”

\--

After a shot of Eszopiclone, my body went numb. My heart rate started to slow down, and my muscles, each in different areas all over my person, started to feel cooler. My eyes were closed and I found myself drifting to sleep. The area where they’d punctured my veins to let the drug seep through was sore. 

I found myself covered in darkness then, and when I realized that I’d been transferred to my nightmare again, my heart was swelling. The scenery was different though. It was an alley with trash scattered all about. Used needles were on the ground and I deduced then that this was an alley where addiction was spread like a cancer. Homeless people and addicts themselves sat in black clothes all against the brick walls. Beer bottles were shattered and I found myself stepping on them. As I looked down to the ground, I was not wearing my usual clothes.

Instead, I was barefoot and dressed in white. It was a white wedding dress, one designed from the eighties. Its train was long and cathedral-style; the sleeves at the top were expanded and beautifully embroidered with its lace and small sequins. My stomach somersaulted then and I felt utterly nauseous. My head was spinning and my vision, even in my dream, was blurring.

“Oh God,” I said, retching as I bent over. “I can’t handle this right now, not now… please.”

“ _ Rochelle? Rochelle, help! _ ”

I cocked my head upward and saw that the scenery had changed once more. This time, I was standing on a river bank in the dark. From afar, there was a stretched-out stream, deep, dark, and from the brush line of the forest ahead, there was a man running towards the other side. I could see it vividly, clear as day, and he was being followed.

“ _ Rochelle! Baby, help! _ ”

My name wasn’t Rochelle, so why did it sound like he was calling for  _ me _ ? The physical feeling of sickness came over me again, but as I hunched over, my hair blew in the wind and threw the strands, I could see traces of the scene being acted out.

Men came into the picture then, and I saw them carrying torches as if it were the 1700’s. Dogs were accompanying them too, and they were large, massive dogs--- bloodhounds and rottweilers hunting together. Their barks sounded horrible, disgustingly deep. As the man ran across the water, I could see the river water staining his leather coat and his pants. In an almost-tragic turn of events, he slipped and fell against the rocks. Blood came pouring down the side of his head, and I, for the first time, ran towards what I was seeing.

“No, stop!” I cried out.

When I came halfway across the bank, I stopped and my mouth dropped open. The dogs descended upon the man, and I heard him scream, heard him scream as I’ve never heard one scream in such a way before. The jaws of both species clamored into his flesh, tore through his leather, and more blood followed.

The man’s face was distorted and hideously decayed, therefore making all traces of his features unrecognizable. I started to run through the water, but that was when the dogs stopped biting and howling. The men in the group looked at me then, and as they saw me, their eyes went wide and somehow, I had the sudden feeling that they’d made a fatal mistake.

“Hell,” one said. “It can’t be! We thought---”

I wanted to hear more, but then I was kicked in the side. A size twelve foot landed in my pelvic region, and as I screamed out loud, my vocalization tore my dream apart and I was released back into reality. 

\--

“Miss Clairewell, who did you contact?”

A brutal slap came across my face. My jaw was ringing with pain, but I persisted. I had to take what Dean said to heart; I couldn’t be weak especially when they were literally interrogating me. I was still in the straitjacket, but this time, it was bloodied. The red came from my broken bottom lip, and I could feel it.

“Who did you contact?”

Carnem was growing furious by the second. He enjoyed hurting women, almost as much as he enjoyed playing with himself. Yes, the smell of lubricant was apparent, and I wondered then if he was hurting another girl before presenting himself to come beat me.

“No one that concerns you, you piece of shit,” I spat. 

I was about to let him truly know what I believed, but before things got worse, Carnem struck me once more and Anthony pulled him back.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Carnem left me alone after he finished sticking me again with the same drug. I tried to fight of course, but with the orderlies there, I figured why I would even need to bother. I wasn't restrained into the jacket this time, and so, I was able to lie along the padded walls and sleep on cushioned flooring. The white of the room seemed quiet, and as I started to dream, I found myself bleeding. Again. This time, I was walking through a hallway with mirrors upon each side of the walls. The wallpaper was a muddled, dark mahogany, perhaps with designs of damask upon its face. The mirrors were in darkly-aged golden frames, and each one was either rectangular or oval.

There were autumn leaves scattered at the edges and corners of the walls, and as I followed through, I remembered then what Dean had told me a few years before: "Whatever's with you will try to trick you. It'll cast these images in your head and try to make you feel safe, but you have to watch yourself. These bastards are smart. Don't fall for their antics, Veronica. It'll get you killed or worse," he'd said.

From what I could remember of it, it was easier said than done. The hallway shifted on into a long corridor, and with the end of the hall coming towards me, I saw a seven-foot-tall rectangular mirror sitting there. It caught my reflection and finally, I understood where those leaves had come from. There was a cold draft coming from behind the frame, and the rustling crunch of their dead skins sounded beneath me. The glass was not covered with a sheen of moisture or ice, but I knew that there wasn't anything good to come of it. But did I have a choice? I couldn't go back, at least not until the sedative wore off. And as I got closer, I could hear those same screams from beforehand.

It was him screaming, and I wanted to know more. I had been so close apparently the last time, that the members of the mob had stopped in fear to look at me. But I could still hear it--- I could still hear the snapping of bone, the tearing of flesh and I could smell the blood. The anguish reverberating from the glass to me was real. I finally pulled the mirror back and watched the scenery behind it shift into darkness. My feet took me through and I felt the glass close the way behind me. The autumn air was about indefinitely. I could smell its cold freshness but could still smell that horrific stench of iron in my nostrils too.

_"Rochelle--- you got to help me! Please, baby, please!"_

There he was again. Through the sound of his voice, he sounded delirious. Had they wounded him to the point where he no longer recognized anything? I started to run through the pitch dark, not knowing exactly where it was that I was going. I knew that from what I felt beneath my feet that I was running down a gravel road. Moonlight appeared and from above, I saw black-rimmed clouds. In front of me then was a long, winding road that became hidden by a towering canopy of dead trees; their branches entwined at the tops and looked as though they were gnarled fingers conjoining.

_"Hurry," a man said. "We gotta get the son-of-a-bitch before he hurts another girl!"_

What? Was that what happened? Did this man, or whatever he was, did he hurt someone and they thought that girl to be me? It was honestly confusing as hell, but at the moment, I wanted to know more. To appeal to the man, and to further discover the truth, I perhaps foolishly cried out. "I'm here! Where are you?" It was a collapse of pressure against me. I fell to the ground and was swept down the hill, the sticks, thorns and rocks catching me. My head was struck then and I looked past the boulders at the edge of the same river. He was there only dead and bloodied now. He was a corpse and the dogs, they were eating away at his bones and God, how I screamed then.

\---

It was now feeding time for the patients. It was twelve-thirty in the afternoon, though with the times we were all shacked up here, nobody could really tell the fragment of day from night anymore. Surprisingly enough, the food was bearable. We were all separated from one another; the men were put in the left side of the room, the women on the right. I was about to starve myself but with the way these drugs were eating at my stomach, I had no choice. The abdominal pain was growing worse by the hour. So slowly, I spoon-fed myself the chili that they'd made the night before. It slid down my throat and warmed me however it could.

"Yeah, um, I'm here to see Veronica Clairewell? It's real important."

I dropped my spoon onto the tray and cocked my head to the far right. I new that voice too. Thank God, I thought. I kicked my chair back and made it towards the table where the others put their dishes. Like an excited girl, I made it towards the front desk.

"Miss Clairewell, you're not supposed to leave the cafeteria! Get back here!" a nurse said.

I didn't care. He had come, and that was all that I cared about. "Dean!" I shouted. He turned to face me and for the first time in perhaps ten years, I saw him clearly. He was taller now, thinner and stronger than the half-pudgy little boy I remembered. The facial structure had matured and his hair was combed up in the front. His muscle tone was shapely too. His two eyes lit up as he saw me, and he reached out with both arms, waiting for the moment I'd come barreling against his chest. In a distinctive 'play-along-with-this' tone, he said, "Little sis!"

I threw myself onto him and latched both arms around the back of his neck. I felt a few tears fall and as he clutched onto me in return, he pat my head, though awkwardly, like a big brother would. My fingernails dug into the back of his leather coat. My tears fell too, and for the while, I wanted nothing more than to run away with him.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you," I whispered. "These doctors are insane, literally, and they think that the patients are bad? I've honestly seen better."

\---

We sat down in the visiting room together under tight supervision. "Christ," Dean said. "What the hell have they done to you?" I knew he was observing my bruises. The patches of purple-black were still apparent on my face, this I knew. It was embarrassing. Surely this was not the face of the little girl he once knew. I looked away and allowed the thickness of my black hair to fall across my cheek. Half of my face was hidden away, and for that, I was grateful.

"You know," I coughed, tears welling. "The usual shit when neglectful mothers say that their unwanted daughters are 'suicidal' when really said daughter isn't. I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't want to meet up under these circumstances, but you were the only person I could think to call."

Unfortunately, Carnem came in. He stood in the corner of the room, his arms crossed and hands full of a clipboard. The idiot appeared like a school girl who'd been dropped by her future prom date; inwardly, I laughed for only a time being, but then I directed my attention back towards Dean.

"You see, Mr. Winchester," Carnem explained, "Ms. Clairewell isn't exactly taking care of herself. She's got numerous cuts on her thighs, and if you look under the bandages, well, they're quite a scare. Her mother simply put her here as a means of protection and safety. She doesn't want her daughter to harm herself any further."

Dean looked over at Carnem and gave a silent glare. His shoulders were broad and seized, pulled back as if he were a cat prepared to pounce. My lips started quiver. I remembered Dean having a bit of a mouth, and so, I readied for the worst. My knuckles went white as I heard Dean speak.

"Look, I don't know what kind of messed up nuthouse you're running here, but Veronica's a human being. She deserves to be treated like one, and if there's any kind of bitch who should be locked up, it's her mother. Now, kindly shut up and let me talk to Veronica in peace."

Carnem seemed threatened. "Mr. Winchester..."

Mockingly, Dean replied. "Yes, Dr. Chilton?"

The two signature orderlies who stood outside the door, I could hear them both laughing. It was a thick laughter that set Carnem on edge and when he went towards the door, he pushed them out of the way and stormed off. He acted repugnant and there was nothing making him halt. His voice echoed off the linoleum, and my heart dropped.

"Make sure the bitch doesn't leave," he growled. "And keep a watch over Mr. Winchester. If he says something smart, throw him out!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drug that Veronica describes is none other than Ketamine. It's a dissociative anesthetic, and it's more commonly used on animals at the vet. It's sadly a preferred date-rape drug, and it can be ingested (crushed in pill form) or injected. In this fanfiction, it's slipped into the liquid drink of the patients. Its effects on the body, whether they be long or short term, follows thus: increased heart rate and blood pressure, nausea, vomiting, numbness, depression, amnesia, hallucinations and potentially fatal respiratory problems. Like any drug, if it's consumed in large quantities for some time, it can either become addictive or fatal. 
> 
> You can read more about it here---- [http://www.drugfreeworld.org/drugfacts/prescription/ketamine.html](url)
> 
> Oh, and from now on, if I find a gif suitable to any scenes in my chapters, I'll use them for illustration.

Dean looked me in the eye carefully. “Veronica, what the hell are you in here for, huh? You don’t seem like the kind of girl who’d manage to get in here on her own royalty points.”

I kneaded my hands against my thighs beneath the table. The pain was still there. The cuts were deep and I feared that from the thing that was clawing there, the veins would be touched, would be opened. I had no intention of bleeding to death, but some nights, that feeling was insurmountable to any other.

“I don’t know,” I said. “You might as well ask my mother. I try telling her something, and she locks me up. It’s highly typical of her.”

The orderlies were still outside the door, and I was careful of what I would say. I didn’t think I was mad, but with all the shit happening lately, who really knew? I leaned closer towards Dean and shuddered. My lips quivered and my blood, from what I could feel, was running cold throughout my whole body.

I didn’t want to bring anything else up, but I had to. Hell, it was the reason I asked him to come down here, wasn’t it? Nevertheless, I had to say it. I feigned bravery, and as Dean looked me in the eye, I felt a few tears flowing. They fell onto the cold table before me and were exposed by the lamp light over our heads.

“What is it?” he asked.

I choked inwardly and shook. “Something’s stalking me in my dreams, Dean. It’s horrible. It touches me. It’s physical but its real form isn’t even there when it does this to me. I know it’s a man though. He touches me like I’m his girlfriend or something. He even calls me Rochelle. I don’t know any Rochelle.”

Dean’s brows furrowed together. “How often does this happen? I mean, I don’t mean to be nosy, but why do you think this is happening?”

“I don’t know. But I’ve seen things. I think his energy or something is the one who’s been showing me these awful images. He runs through this river every night, but there’s this mob. They follow him and there are these hideous, drooling dogs. Dean, I’ve seen the dogs tear into him,” I cried. “There’s always so much blood.”

Three hard knocks banged on the door then. They were so loud that I jumped high in my chair.

Dean was shuddered by the noise too, but he wasn’t as affected by it as I was. He stood up immediately, as he knew what the three knocks meant. Our time was up. He would leave and I would be thrown back into the cell that was more so like a prison.

“Hey,” he said, touching my shoulder. “I’ll come back tomorrow, alright? You hang in there.”

“Dean…”

“What?”

I pulled out a picture of a newsclip I’d found earlier before my mother had been incarcerated. It was faded with only a few excerpts of wording visible. It was from the year I was born, so the clip was from 1987.

“I think this might help you. I took it from a library a while back. If you can, can you find out who he is? I’m scared and I don’t know what to do.”

The persistent beating on the door came again. “Mr. Winchester, it’s time for you to go!” an orderly said.

“Alright, alright!” Dean snapped. “I’ll look into it, Veronica. If I find anything, I’ll let you know. I promise. I’ll be back tomorrow and we’ll figure this out.”

I nodded and like that, it seemed he disappeared from me once more as he left the small room.

\---

The next few hours seemed like an eternity. It was only 2:15 AM, and people were acting as if they were zombified; with the abuse around here and the awfully-timed sleep and awakening schedules, I was sure that’s what was happening and of that I had no doubt.

All the patients were rounded up and stuck into the cafeteria, where we were fed and given an early morning pill in our orange juice that was to “steady” our nerves. As if such a thing could happen. I found out that the pill, in its crushed and powdery form, was making the others hallucinate something fierce. The older patients who had dementia were only a few steps away from having seizures; their bodies would convulse and I worried for them. The middle-aged patients were rocking themselves back and forth; others began to vomit heavily.

This was abuse beyond compare. The sight of it was horrific and nauseating at the same time. My heart began to palpitate from fear and the sensation of abrupt nausea came as well. When the nurse came around to give me my pill, I fought her. I kicked her in the groin and started to run. The slippers I wore were holding me down, so I kicked them off and started to run down the hallway, barefoot. She clicked her walkie on and all I heard was her calling for Anthony and James.

I wasn’t going to wait. I was going to leave no matter what the cost.

Turning the corner, I found the door to the staff’s locker room was unlocked. I swung inside and started to look for other clothes to wear. My hands reached out and panned through the dark. Finally, my fingers touched new threads. I scrambled around the room and found a desk lamp, whereas I turned it on and sheltered it from the doorway. I threw on the new white shirt and a pair of blue jeans that I found. I even found a blue jacket to put over it, and thankfully, one of the nurses had shoes that were my size exactly.

But before I was going to attempt to slip through the hallway and out the door, something crashed. There were sounds of struggling and there were plates and glasses breaking, shattering into pieces onto the floor. I dropped my old clothes, turned the light off and started to find a corner to hide in. With the lockers being tall and vast as they were, they provided adequate shadowing. I slumped down and waited.

“Goddamn it,” Carnem echoed. “Doesn’t that little bitch have anything else better to do than annoy me!”

He must have thought it was me who was causing the ruckus. When in truth, I had no idea who it was. He was as clueless about it as I was, but I honestly had no ambition to know who it was. But unfortunately, I was about to find out.

\---

The screams came before I could even have the chance to block them out or prepare for them.

Two females screamed first, then gurgled. I could hear their necks snapping and their bones crushing; it was an awful sound and as I sat in the corner, something compelled me to look around the corner. I snuck up towards the door and remained quiet. With the slightest peak, I saw the shadows of the staff on the wall. A lamp had been knocked over but was still able to provide adequate lighting.

_**“What the fuck?”** _

Then, the men were being slaughtered. Anthony was the first one to be killed by this stranger I now saw. He wore disgruntled leather, torn pants and black, freshly-stained biker boots. He stood over Anthony now and with one strong hand, which seemed withered from afar, he tore at his throat. The fingernails entered first and I could hear flesh tearing. I almost vomited. Per the norm, there was choking and gurgling noises.

I slid against the door frame and from sheer fear, watched in silence. This man was now tearing into Anthony’s torso with a small knife. The rib cage was split open and I could see Anthony’s spleen, his intestines and lungs being carved out from his abdomen and chest. I mean, I never cared for the orderlies, but the poor bastard didn’t deserve to be disemboweled in the manner that he was now.

I gagged and couldn’t keep the sound soft. I was so scared, so terrified. All I could see too were the shadows of the man and Anthony against the wall. Blood was spurting from the new corpse before the man, and I could see how it pooled through the faint darkness. Just as I stood up, I saw a cell phone to the right of me. I grabbed it and without pause, ran towards the only place I hated but knew would keep me safe: the padded room.

“ _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ ” I cried. “I need to call Dean!"

I ran out and into the hallway, whereas the man behind me turned and heard me feet scraping the linoleum. The shoes were horrendous half-heels, and so, they wouldn’t provide me with perfect poise of silence. He started running after me and for a good minute, I traveled from the west wing to the east wing. I found that the key to the padded room was still in the door. I knew that it worked both ways and could open from either side of the doorknob. I took it in hand, threw myself inside, and locked the door. 

My heartbeat was pounding, violently and erratically. My tears were flowing and as I pressed the number keys to call Dean, the bastard had found a way to smash through the thick glass. Slowly, an elongated hand slid through the open window on the door, and found the knob. His hand though was rotted. The knuckles were exposed, the fingertips pointed, and as it gripped the brass, the man tore it off and entered.

I started to cry louder, more hysterically, and as he stepped closer, I fainted and dropped the phone. The phone was ringing, ringing, and at the end of the line, I heard Dean answer.

“ _Hello? Who is this? Don’t you know it’s damn near two-thirty in the morning?_ ”

But instead, Dean’s voice was drowned out by the other’s. “ _I’ve come back, Rochelle baby. Now I can take you home. They won’t hurt you anymore_.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Dean's point-of-view. Generally speaking, most cops won't disclose information to the civilians per the norm of it being confidential for an ongoing investigation and to avoid a rupture with the press and media, but in this case, I'm making it possible for the story line. 
> 
> Like I mentioned before, this fanfiction is based on the Dokken song, "The Hunter." I'm going to incorporate some scenery of the music video into this chapter as inspiration. You can watch the kick-ass video here---- [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8E6IMlPTv4](url)
> 
> Thanks for reading thus far!
> 
> And because I like to write darkly, the backstory of the baddie and his girlfriend isn't for the faint of heart. Read at your own risk.
> 
> I'm also going to pull out some more backstory for Lynch's character, so you can get a better examination of his past.

**-Dean's POV-**

I couldn’t wait any longer. I knew then that it must’ve been Veronica who called on the hospital phone. I drove towards the Institution and floored it. To my surprise, most of the cops were already there. The sun wasn’t set to come up yet for a few more hours, and so I drove through the pitch black towards the highway. I drove for a good half hour before coming up towards the driveway.

I knew it. There were cops everywhere and the sheriff was just coming out. I drove up and without an I.D, took my time to assess what was going on. I would just present myself as I was. I turned my Impala off and started to head towards the entrance. If I tried, I perhaps could’ve entered unseen, but instead, I was stopped.

“Sorry, son, but this is a crime scene.”

“What happened?”

I looked the officer in the eye and as he sipped at his black coffee, I could tell he was whiter than a sheet. His eyes were wide and there were circles beneath them; he must’ve seen something that didn’t agree with him. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen someone so freaked out by what they didn’t understand or maybe, it was just the supposed gore.

“Last night, some maniac broke into the Divinyls Institution,” the officer said. “Massacred the staff and took some of their organs. It’s a goddamn mess in there. Forensic guys are puking because it’s that bad apparently.”

My brows pulled together. “Their organs? Did this person happen to touch any of the patients?”

The officer finished his coffee. “Nope, he didn’t touch any of them except one.”

“Who?” It was a stupid question to ask, because I figured who it was. I just needed to hear it.

The officer, whose name I saw to be Beverley, pulled out his notepad. He set his coffee down and flipped through the pages. He cleared his throat and squinted at the paper. He dug through his pocket then, and withdrew a pair of reading glasses.

“Ah yeah, here we go. A seventeen-year-old female named Veronica Clairewell. Checked into the Institution by her mother, Cathleen, three days ago. Whereabouts currently unknown. We’re assuming she was abducted by the bastard. We’ve sent out a search party for her, but who knows. Hopefully the girl will turn up. Can’t have another poor girl end up dead.”

“Another girl? What do you mean?”

Beverley coughed. He was perhaps mid-sixties or early seventies, and he coughed into a white handkerchief. He withdrew a pill bottle and popped one into his mouth; instinct told me it was for his heart. He went to grab his coffee, but he remembered that it was gone.

“Damn,” he said.

Then quick thinking came to my part. “Sir, may I buy you some pie? It’s my treat.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, son.”

I pat his shoulder carefully. “You’re a distinguished officer of the law. It’d be my pleasure.”

\---

We arrived at a small diner and ordered. He had coffee, black, and a slice of rhubarb pie. I went for a Coke and some cherry pie. I didn’t want to disturb him, as the old man already seemed like he had enough on his mind. But damn it, I’d promised Veronica that I’d find out about this psycho, didn’t I?

I’d have to press my luck.

“Ahem, excuse me, sir. But um, I was wondering if you could tell me about this other girl going missing?”

Even the waitress across from us behind the counter flinched. It must’ve been something bad if everyone already knew what had happened; then again, this was a small town and I wasn’t that surprised that something would scar them in such a way. Nevertheless, Beverley looked me in the eye and kept his voice low.

“Back in ‘87,” he said. “There was a murder of a young girl, who was coincidentally the same age as this girl who’s just gone missing. Not only was she the mayor’s daughter, she was also the girlfriend of this hot-shot guitarist in a glam metal band as they called them back then. Well the girl had run off so much with this guy so much, her daddy thought the worst. And eventually, she came home to tell him what any father dreads to hear.”

“So, she was pregnant?”

Beverley nodded. “Yup, and man, oh man was her father pissed. He was quite the conservative Catholic, you see, and he was balls-to-the-wall religious. He shunned her, called her a whore, but with his authority, he ended up arranging a mob for this guitarist guy. Out on 14 and 41, towards the left of the old bridge, that’s where they chased him down in an old-fashioned manner. Dogs and torches and all. They chased his ass down and the dogs got at him, but that wasn’t before her daddy put a shot from his rifle into the man’s leg.”

“It was that bad?” I asked.

Beverley kept nodding. “Oh hell yes. I was the first one on call and the first to arrive at the crime scene. The man’s body was all torn up to hell by the dogs. Flesh and bone exposed. I won’t ever be able to get that damn image outta my head.”

\---

Coughing, he continued. “The bullet had nicked the artery in his left leg, and he’d bled out. The daughter had found out about it earlier though, but beforehand, she’d run off to her mother’s in Virginia because she was afraid of what he would do to her. She came back down here a few days later and found out her fiance was killed by her daddy. Not only was the man’s loss tragic, hers was the absolute worst.”

The waitress ducked away and sniffled as she tended to the other customers. This story had to of been more than gruesome for the public ear and even now, the officer was careful now not to say anything else at a certain volume, so I scooted in closer to hear.

“Like I said, she was pregnant and all. But unfortunately, that didn’t stop her from hanging herself down by the brook. Only, she didn’t use a rope. She used a long, wrought silver chain. She hung herself from the tallest branch and was dangling in a wedding dress she’d saved up for. They said that her belly was bloated and that she was bluer than the sky. We buried two people the next day and arrested her daddy, along with all the other crazy coots who followed him.”

It explained a little bit, but then again, why the hell was this guy, dead or not, after Veronica? It didn’t make much sense to me, but then I had a notion to pull out the newspaper clip that she’d given me before.

“Sir, can you tell me who these folk are?”

The pictures were half-faded but even with his eyesight for what it was, he could still figure their faces out. He took a bite of his rhubarb pie and washed it down between loud bites.

“The guy is the one I’ve been telling you about. His name was Adrian Heartthorn. Whether that was his real name or not, I don’t know. And the girl, that was the mayor’s daughter, Rochelle Laurent. She and her baby are buried out in the Whitesnake Cemetery. It’s the only mausoleum that was interred in that place. You can’t miss it. It’s on Highway J.”

I nodded and thanked him. He went to give the waitress some money, but I shook my head and pat his shoulder again. “Thanks for the info, Officer Beverley, and like I said, it’s on me, sir.”

He spurted out as he swallowed another bite. “Thank you, young man.”

I got up and started to leave. I knew now about the dead girl, but as for the man, there was one more question in the back of my mind that I wanted answered. I looked at Beverley once more and asked him a small question.  
“Sir, what happened to Heartthorn’s body?”

He shrugged his shoulders simply and shook his head. “Don’t know. The bastards that managed to escape our custody stole the body. I have no clue where he is and mostly, I don’t even know if the poor bastard has any remains left. I doubt he did anything to Rochelle, but then again, who knows what happened?”

I had the feeling that only one person did. And that person, at the moment, was Veronica.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And ironically, the face claim for Rochelle is India Eisley's real-life mother, Olivia Hussey.

**-Dean’s POV-**

 

I went down to the local library and started to do some research. Never cared for it to be honest, but now that my bookworm kid brother wasn’t here, this had been my first time doing it alone. Thankfully, it was easier to cheat with the computers they had there, and when I asked the librarian for records, birth certificates, she complied all too willingly but with the half-grim, half-sad look on her wrinkled face.

I started to dive into Heartthorn’s past. 

He’d been born under the name in all actuality in 1954, and he’d moved out from Oklahoma in 1972 and out towards Los Angeles. There he started up a band per the norm of a young musician wanting to start up a career. I flipped through the digitized slideshow and saw the clippings of the first band gigs. 

Heartthorn, however, didn’t come around the area of Albuquerque until 1985. I figured then that he’d either moved or, he was on the road with his band. Interestingly enough, I found a news clipping that was an engagement announcement; he was intending to marry Rochelle, but only until she turned eighteen. Whether Daddy Dearest knew about that or not, I had no idea. I would’ve questioned him, but he was dead. Rochelle’s father had died in 1994 from a heart attack. No one else was around to question.

“Damn it,” I groaned. 

But then, I started to look around the library’s walls, and on the south wall underneath the highest window, there was a large photograph framed in black. I moved from the computer and headed over to see what it was. It was a commemorative photograph of all the young ladies who were either killed or went missing in the past fifty years. I looked and looked, until finally I saw who was the fifteenth picture.

“ _ Rochelle Laurent-Heartthorn. July 21st, 1970- September 14th, 1987. Beloved daughter, friend and mother.” _

Well, that was confusing as hell. She was only seventeen when she died. She was pregnant, yes, as the officer disclosed, but how the hell was it that she carried Heartthorn’s last name on the plaque? She wasn’t even old enough to get married. There’d be no possible way for that to happen. 

But then again as I looked closer, it was Rochelle’s face that stuck out clearly. It was damn near like Veronica’s, only hers was more shaped as an oval and thin-lipped, plus she was brown-eyed and tanned. Even the long black hair and body shape was there.

I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but what other possibility could there be besides that this bastard had been wronged as he was being murdered, and all for something that was heavily misunderstood. He perhaps loved her and then again, the fact remained that she was pregnant at seventeen. He’d been thirty-three and sixteen years her senior. It was no wonder that her dad was pissed off. But to be ripped apart by dogs and shot… that was one hell of a way to go. His spirit was back and so was his body. Anyone in his way would be considered fair game, and little Veronica… she was just a girl caught in the crossfire.

 

\---

A few hours later when it got dark, I headed out to the Whitesnake Cemetery to find Rochelle’s mausoleum. I drove down the highway for the better half of an hour. The road was running downhill and towards a stretch of hidden roads. It seemed a grim little place, and from what I saw as I pulled up, the cemetery hadn’t been widely used in years. It seemed abandoned almost. The markers were cracked and the gates to the cemetery themselves were unchained and opened. I figured that cops didn’t come this way very often. 

I pulled Baby into a secluded half-drive and parked her there. I grabbed the bag from the trunk and started to head my way into the graveyard. Beverley had been right. After a few minutes of walking into the musk, I found the mausoleum. It was tall, wider than any I’d ever seen before. It had a chunky, stone-cold build to it and it seemed wide enough to conceal a whole family, not just two people. The doors were wide, massive and a jaded green though faded in color. There weren’t any chains on their handles so it’d be easy.

 

\---

 

When I bust the handles, it was easy enough to creak the doors open wide enough to slip through.

It seemed different. There weren’t a thousand spider webs covering the casket, and this one, from the look of it, appeared new. Its coat was glossy and its wood not that old. Had it been replaced? Had someone broken in before, to get a rise out of seeing a dead girl’s corpse? 

If so, then they were sick bastards. The girl had gone through enough in life and now they wanted to crack her open, to see if they could take a gander at a dead guitarist’s girlfriend? Sometimes, I really wanted to smack the hell out of someone. Nevertheless, I put the bag down and started to examine the casket. I was doing it with non-threatening intent, and as my fingers slid across the frame, I felt something through the dark. I removed my flashlight from my pocket and turned it on. The evidence was there.

Someone had disturbed it alright, and there were scratches on the glossy rim. The latch had been broken. I flipped the casket lid open and found a gnarled sight. She was lying there in a white wedding dress, designed perhaps in 1986, a year before she died, but there was something tattered at the bodice of the dress. Where her stomach was, there was a gaping hole. Her ribs were exposed, same for the hollowed out entrails. Someone had taken the baby, or whatever was left of it. Someone had deliberately gutted her.

“ _ Why? _ ”

I turned and withdrew my gun. It was loaded with salt-filled bullets, but that wasn’t going to stop me from using it. I peeked through the dark and shined the light where I heard the voice come from. Before me then was Rochelle. She was wearing the same dress that was in the casket behind me. Her face was gaunt, pale, and there were dark circles underneath her tired eyes; her long flowing hair was in ruined rivets past her shoulders, and thus, it made her look as if she were crawling from a well. It appeared also like she’d been crying.

“ _ Why did you do this! _ ” she screamed at me.

I shook my head in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about? Who did what?”

She started walking towards me and as she did so, her abdomen started bleeding. Raw, fresh-smelling blood was pouring from behind her embroidered bodice, seeping, spilling. She started to cry uncontrollably and she reached her hands out. The blood flowed profusely and stained the white silk.

“ _ My baby--- why did you take  _ **_my_ ** _ baby! _ ”

“Look, I didn’t take your baby. I’m just here to find---”

But I guess she wasn’t having it. Before I could fire, she threw herself at me and used her energy to toss me against the wall of her mausoleum. I was being beaten by someone dead. Her hands, now untraceable, grabbed my ankles and dragged me outside. I dropped my gun and my flashlight, and as she regenerated her ghostly form, she grabbed me by the shoulders and started to shake me back and forth.

“ _ You find my baby, Dean Winchester. You find my baby boy and give him back to me! _ ”  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some provocative scenes in this chapter, more so the themes of rape and forced necrophilia by the deceased on Veronica. Read at your own risk.

I was lying on a cot somewhere, somewhere cold and secluded. The smell of moss and the sound of water dripping entered my ears. I could feel my lips quivering as I lay there with my eyes closed, and the sound of my heartbeat was relevant too. It pounded deep in my ear canals. Just as I turned over onto my side, that’s when I felt a hand on my hip. It was the same hand, the same man--- only this time, there was something between us. 

“ _ Rochelle, baby, wake up--- you’ve got to see someone _ ,” the voice said, darkly, richly. 

I could feel the adrenaline and fear pulsing into my veins the moment he stopped speaking. I didn’t turn to face him, so instead I felt behind me. My fingers started to reach around. There was something tiny between us. It was calcified, hard. Something in me told me not to think about what it could be, but over and over, the continuous guesses were never ending. Finally something screamed at me to look and when I turned onto my other side, I saw not one, but two dead people before me. 

He was lying there, cupping the small head of a deceased baby. The baby itself was a gnarled granite-white, with dark deposits all over its bumpy surface. It was what I felt. It was calcified in its small little form and how I screamed them. The arms and legs had molded into its own body and the head itself was round and protruded. I shot back off the cot and ran up against the nearby wall, crying out.

“Christ!” I said. “Wha-what is that baby doing here? Where did you get it!”

I could hear myself slipping into a verbal frenzy. He stood up then with the look of confusion, and slowly, like a panther sleeking upon its prey, he watched me. I hadn’t been watched like that in years and when he approached me, my tears fell hot and warm down my face.

“ _ Rochelle, that’s our baby, _ ” he told me. “ _ That’s our baby and you’re just going to abandon it like that? Baby, you can’t do that. It needs you and so do I. _ ”

I shook my head. “You’re fucking insane. I’m not going mad,” I cried, slumping against the wall. “I’m not mad, I’m not, I’m not!”

He took my hips into his hands and steadied me. I looked into his eyes and immediately, my body froze. I couldn’t move or breathe. He lowered his mouth to my neck and started to lick it. And somehow, his tongue was still wet. It felt hot, warm, blooded. His burly figure started to lift mine up against the wall where a small shelf was. He sat me down on it and spread my legs. And at last, I knew what was going to happen. I’d been dreaming about it for months, hadn’t I?

“ _ Rochelle, let me love you. It’s been so long and I don’t want to wait anymore _ .”

But I wasn’t going to wait either. I kneed him in the groin. He didn’t fall to the ground like I had hoped, but instead, slumped over, then threw me against the other wall. There was something sharp and metallic sticking out, and when I contacted the wall, it plunged into the top of my left shoulder. Blood welled and I could feel the pain singing through my skin. Slowly, the top of my long-sleeve white shirt began to become drenched. I had no choice but to go lie down, as I felt as though my knees were going to buckle. I looked away from the baby. I couldn’t bear to look at it but yet, I did. The tears were running warm down my face again and I could feel my blood running cold. He, on the other hand, started coming back towards me.

“ _ Rochelle, baby, I don’t want to fight. Please _ ,” he said, looking down at me, “ _ I want things to be as they were _ .”

“I’m not Rochelle! My name is Veronica!”

He stood there confused. But then, he crawled on top of me and pressed his weight down. My pelvis felt the dead weight that he was.  _ Please, please, please leave me be _ , I thought to myself. This man, no, this corpse, started to kiss my throat in an attempt to calm me. I had to admit, it did. It frightened me more than anything, and when I felt his hand in its decayed, lithe form slide up beneath my shirt, I kept crying.

 

\---

After careful consideration, something in me blurted out words I thought only an insane person would say to a dead man. “Remind me of what we had.”

“ _ What? _ ”

Had I gone mad at the Divinyls Institution? Perhaps so, and for some horrible, god-awful reason, I pitied him even if he made me feel frightened beyond reality.

I could feel the need for the medication now. Wished that I could see Carnem only so he could put more drugs into my system to make me forget. But that was child’s play, wasn’t it? I knew then that it wouldn’t end well. But I had to think now that Dean wasn’t here at the moment.  _ What would he do, what would he do? Oh yes. Pretend and play along. _

“Remind me,” I coaxed him. “What last name do we share?” I remembered that they’d married in secret before they died. I remembered her being his wife but in all honesty, I couldn’t remember his last name. If Dean were here, he would have used his wit to pick up on causing a distraction. It always seemed to work for him.

Still, this one’s teeth were exposed behind his withering lips. “ _ Heartthorn, baby. You married me, remember? _ ”

“It’s been so long, I’m sorry,” I choked. “But if I’m Rochelle, then you’re…”

He kissed my forehead and his lips brushed against my skin, cracked, opened, dead. “ _ I’m Adrian, baby. Remember? I’m your man _ .”

He slid his arms beneath my back and groped me, his mouth finding my neck. His teeth found the flesh there and he bit hard, drawing blood, suckling, drinking. My eyes started to water and my heart started to fall in my chest. My clothes were ripped off of my body and one by one, they fell to the floor. Adrian, as I knew him now to be, pushed my legs apart. He reached between us and unsheathed his cock from his pants. There was only a second or so before I could feel him pushing in. I stilled and could not move. It felt cold, hard, and not in a sensual manner. It felt like someone was taking something sharp and rutting it into my womb. The tip merged at the base of my cervix each time he started to thrust, and every time, I died a little.

“Please,” I cried lowly. “It hurts, please, please stop.”

He kept forcing himself into me. Each twist, each angle of the hips, every motion hurt worse than the last. He cupped the back of my head and started to pick up the pace. He was bigger and longer than I was, and his frame enveloped mine completely; it felt like I was being smothered. I wanted to say something, but found that I didn’t have the strength. He kept pumping me and kept his arms around my back, and with each thrust, a part of me kept stretching and dying all the same.

All I could do was repeat his name, and apart from that, pray that Dean would find me soon.


	9. Chapter 9

When he slid out of me, he wrapped me up in his leather jacket and started to clean my thighs.

He used a cold rag, dipped in whatever kind of water there was. It smelled damp and was covered then with traces of my fluids and blood. I couldn’t look him in the eye. In order to avoid contact, I turned my head to the side and tried not to think of the fact that I’d just been raped by a corpse. Yes, that’s right--- a corpse. His thrusts weren’t the things that frightened me. It’d been his eyes. It’d been his very flesh.

While he’d been abusing me, pieces of him fell off of him and onto me. Even his tongue had been wet when licking my throat, but how so?  _ He was fucking dead _ . He wasn’t supposed to be secreting anything. He started then to wash my folds and when he leaned forward, he kissed them almost apologetically. 

“What the hell are you doing?” I gasped. 

He looked up at me and his eyes, half-alive somehow and filmed of white, loomed into me. He sat me up then and curled me into his chest, brushing my hair away from my face. And now, his touch felt warm.

“ _ I’m only taking care of my girl _ .”

_ Oh, your girl? _ I thought to myself.  _ Your girl is dead, just like you _ .

 

\---

 

Hours passed and he fell asleep behind me. He had a hold of me that was almost iron tight. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe and I was still throbbing from what he did to me. I cried in my sleep but not for long, as I later heard someone scratching the sky window over our heads. The pane was old and tattered but still in tact. It was shadowy out, but I could still see the faint outline of someone against the frame.

I thought for a moment it was another corpse come to take me, but it wasn’t. It was some alive and well. Plaid shirt, blue jeans and a heartbeat. It was Dean, but how the hell did he find me?

I was about to gasp in relief, but he shushed me. “Psst,” he said, his voice echoing carefully down the concrete walls. “Don’t make a sound but I’m comin’ down.”

He slipped down from the pane but somewhere along the bottom left of the glass, it cracked. Adrian woke up and cocked his head to the side each time I shuddered. I had to distract him however I could. 

“Hey,” I said, gently. “Hey, come closer. I want you to hold me.”

That confused the hell out of him, which I knew it would. With the last remaining bits of his brow left, he furrowed them together and said, “ _ But I thought you were mad at me _ .”

Dean stilled up top. He didn’t breathe loudly, nor did he make a contradiction of himself by being awkward. He stayed still until I sat up. It was one hell of a leap of faith, but I figured it would have to do. I pushed Adrian on his back and straddled him. His cock sat firm against my folds and deep inside, I cringed as I’m sure Dean did. My hands rested flat against Adrian’s chest. I pinned him down and smiled though my cheeks felt forced back in a pull to do so.

“I was, but I realized I was being foolish. Can you ever forgive me, baby?”

I literally almost vomited from the realization that I’d said it, but what else could I do? He started to rise up against my folds, with some kind of strength to his cock. The tip of him brushed against my slit. I thought of nothing else other than the point of distracting him. Without thinking clearly I pulled my shirt off and threw it to the floor. I didn’t know what Dean was thinking of me but I hoped it wasn’t bad.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I said again. “Won’t you hold me?”  _ Come on, Dean, come on _ .  _ Whatever you’re gonna do, you better fucking do it fast because I don’t know how much longer I can distract him _ .

He didn’t hesitate. For his decrepit age, for his wasted flesh, he threw his arms around me and started to maul my breasts with his mouth. Each lunge from his tongue scared me. Far above on the roof, I heard Dean scattering about. Finally, the glass panes shattered and fell on us. The fire escape was booming with noise then and when I looked over my shoulder, there was a side door that flung open without hesitation.

I grabbed Adrian’s coat and pulled it on, zipping it up fast. I dismounted him and started to run towards Dean. I’d never run so fast in my life, but at the same time, my knees ached, as did my thighs. Glass had been broken in either corners of the room and were scattered in pieces across the concrete. I felt the shards cut into my soles and God, did it hurt like hell. Blood kept coming and it ran red, red, red.

“ _ Rochelle? No! Baby, what are you doing? _ ”

Dean held a hand out to me while the other one was full with a gun. “Come on!”

I took his hand and together, we ran out the front door of the secluded bunk. The iron door slammed open and at last, I could smell and inhale fresh air. There were woods all around us and as I ran towards Dean’s car, something in me started to hurt, and hurt badly. Twisting pain contorted in my lower pelvic region. It wasn’t the tearing of my hymen that hurt. But as I started to crawl on my knees towards the Impala, I heard gunshots being fired behind me.

**“DEAN!”**

No answer. Instead, the Winchester boy came out and scooped me up, dropping the magazine of his gun onto the ground. “Come on, we need to go!”

“I thought it was only rock salt you had,” I blabbed. 

He ran us over towards the sleek black car and put me down. He threw the door open fast and pushed me inside. My feet scraped against the floor and tinged but I knew he meant well. 

“No, no rock salt. Just straight up bullets for his nasty decaying ass. He’s still an animated form, so using rock salt on him would be useless.”

With that being said, Dean shut the door and ran towards the driver’s side. Adrian was coming. His figure was emerging from the bunk and howling, just howling. It was such a horrific sound that I could feel my flesh becoming riddled with goosebumps. 

“Dean, hurry!” I screamed, now paranoid and hysterical. “Drive, fucking drive!”

And he did. His foot didn’t hesitate to find the gas pedal.

 

\---

 

“How did you find me?”

He hadn’t the heart the answer. He was quiet until we came into a curved drive that was hidden between an old Victorian and a hotel. The purr of the engine died the moment he turned Baby off. His first instinct was to hold me. And for the first time in a long time, almost eleven years exactly, I saw the tears fall from his eyes. There was a dead silence between us and that's the way it remained until he discerned eight words.

“Damn,” he said, “ _I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there_.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: A suicide attempt is present in the early bits of this chapter. Read at your own risk.

After we settled in at the hotel, Dean went to sleep. I knew he had a knife beneath his pillow, but I was still so unsure of what was going to happen. I’d just been raped by a corpse. Deep down a part of me felt like there was nothing left. I hated it. It felt like I was stripped away, molded into something different. As I lay there in thought, I had the urge to go take a bath. I wanted to wash away everything that wasn’t me, and more so, be comfortable once more.

 

\--

 

Dean was still sleeping as I entered the bathtub. It wasn’t huge but it wasn’t small either. There was a curtain on the silver rod, and I pulled it all the way shut. I didn’t want him to see what I was about to do. As the water ran, I began to think about Adrian. I hadn’t the slightest idea why, but there was just something in the way he had howled that frightened me, that made me feel sorry for him.

But why the fuck was I feeling sorry for someone who’d just _raped_ me? A dead man who, in fact, pressured his body atop of mine and forced himself into me?

Immediately, I began to claw at my own flesh and started to scrape, bite and tear into myself. All the rage in the world was my own and I was at last becoming fervent. Tears fell down my face as did the bits of blood. Red pooled in the water and as I grunted behind closed lips, my pain tripled. My fingernails left behind angry red marks and my feet started to turn numb from the cold. I sunk down into the water.

Beside the tub, I noticed that there was something small and silver sitting beside the white bolt of the toilet. It was long, rectangular in its closed composure, and silver. I reached over the edge of the tub and retrieved it. I opened it, and it was revealed to be a straight-razor. The blade was not old and nor was it dull. It was brand-new, fresh. I started to cry in silence, and while the water kept running, I looked once at the door through the filmy shower curtain.

I knew Dean would be pissed, but I wanted out. He hadn’t gone through what I just did. He didn’t have someone force their appendage inside their own, nor did he have the feeling of dying trapped in his lungs. My own mother hated me and for what? I didn’t even know but now with this shit ending, I was glad to be rid of her. And so, I sighed once, let loose a breath that was categorized as my last.

I swept the blade across my neck. The sharp steel slit into the surface of my flesh and there was so much going through my head. The memories of meeting Dean, him holding me, telling me everything was going to be alright. But over and over again, all I could think of was the look on Adrian’s withered face when I ran away. He seemed so defeated, bruised- was I as horrible a person as he was for running? I felt like it.

Still, the warmth of my blood seemed stolen. It ran down my chest and soaked the white of my shirt. My legs jerked once then went numb, and I could feel myself exsanguinating. My throat hurt very little compared to how deep the pain inside was. My vision blurred in and out, and eventually, I slipped under the water.

 

\---

 

“You wake up, damn it! Do you hear me? Wake your ass up!”

My face was being tapped repeatedly on either side of my jaw. It was not rough or cruel, but worried. I looked through half-opened eyes and coughed. Water came up from my lungs and I thrashed with whatever strength I had left. Dean was holding me up in his lap and I felt his hand hitting my back. I was coughing still and I saw that there were bandages on my throat. Water and blood merged and came pouring.

“Son-of-a-bitch! I’m gonna salt and burn his ass. He’s gonna be dead again, but this time for good. Don’t care what I’ll have to do,” he choked between sobs. “You just hold on and I promise I’m gonna end his ass. Don’t you close those eyes. Don’t. The paramedics are coming, just hold on. Please, Veronica baby, please.”

My eyes cracked open wider, but even more so as I watched Dean, _he_ was there. I hadn’t the slightest ability to scream due to what I’d just done. Before I could point towards the area behind Dean, his head was struck with the back of a guitar. Dean thudded to the floor and tried to get up, but as he collapsed, I did too but not for very much longer. Adrian had come for me.

He looked at me once as I started to cry, and for some reason unknown, I actually reached out for him. My arms were shaking, my fingers twitching. He stooped down and picked me up into his arms. My blood ran down his leather jacket and stained it. His arms were around me and he clung onto me.

“ _Baby, why wouldn’t you stay? I didn’t want--- **oh fuck, what did you do?** I’ll fix you, baby. I promise _.”

I wanted to say something but the blood oozing from my wound prevented that. I tried to understand why I was thinking in such a manner, but I hadn’t the time to pronounce my thoughts clearly. My eyes closed and slowly, Adrian was taking me away. The sound of shallow breathing entered my ears and everything else faded out.

 

\---

 

I felt a searing pain in my throat when I woke again.

It was sharp, deep— it was a suture of some sort, with string tied to its end. I realized what he was doing. He was sewing me shut, cleansing the blood away with a rag and literally sealing me tight. Adrian sat beside me but loomed there. His fingertips were more decomposed now, and the stench of his flesh was horrible, that I gagged and turned onto my side.

I pushed him away and sat up. The mirror across the way captured my image and when I saw what he’d done, I started to cry. I reached for my throat and felt his work. The stitches were grotesque and thick, most definitely pronounced, and I wondered then if I was the prime feminine example of the modern Prometheus. Inwardly, I began to panic. Tears streamed hot down my face and I shook my head. He came over then and pulled me onto his lap. His lips found my wound and gingerly, he kissed his threadwork. For some god-awful reason, I allowed him to hold me.

“Why?” I croaked. “Why did you steal me and stitch me up? Don’t you have any idea what you’ve done!”

In a fit of rage, of hurt, I started hitting his chest. I was terrified of him, this undead and yet living corpse, and as I hit him harder and harder, I felt his sternum cave in. My mouth dropped open and my eyes flashed wide. He wheezed. He literally wheezed and started to cough, dead, black blood coming to the front of his teeth and over his blue lips. Some of the dead blood landed on my breasts and I shrieked.

“ _Baby, that hurt but if you want, do it some more_ ,” he groaned. “ _I’m sorry though. I deserve everything._ ”

I paused on his lap with my hands up. “What?”

“ _If you want to continue to hit me, you can. But know I’d never hurt you again_.”

“You’re insane.”

I fell off his lap and braced myself up against the wall, backing away. _You’re fucking crazy and I should let Dean salt and burn you for it. You raped me, then you stitched me. Why? Why, you bastard, why?_

I tried so hard to think of anything and everything, but instead, he crawled on his broken kneecaps and on his rotted hands towards me. I was in the corner of the room and couldn’t move away. He had me pinned then and his lips found my inner thighs.

“ _Let me make it up to you, baby_ ,” Adrian said. “ _Please, please let me try. I know I fucked up but please don’t keep me out of your life anymore. I want to be yours again. Just… here, let me slip this on you._ ”

Before I could say an objection, he took my left hand and extended it outward. Something small and circular fell onto my finger, and I knew then what it was. It was a gold wedding ring. Her wedding ring or his, I didn’t know. But something inside me then pitied him. Something pitied this dead man and his eyes. I shuffled back a little bit more and he wrapped his arms around my waist. One kiss at a time, his lips found my V-cut bodice and there he placed his flesh.

“ _Baby_ …” he voiced, his tone sincere, low. “ _I want you to be with me again. But this time, we’ll be buried together. No one’s going to hurt you any more._ ”

 _Oh God_ , I thought to myself. _Oh God, oh God!_ I knew exactly what that meant, and in order for me to do that, I would have to die. He wanted me to die and be emaciated into his world… **forever**.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: While Dean hatches up a plan and goes to the cemetery, the music set to this scene as Rochelle thinks of Adrian and her baby boy is [this piece](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-jnmlwsIb2Y) from the 2002 horror movie, "Ghost Ship." It's a corny movie, I know, but the music is amazing. It fits her so well!

- **Dean’s POV** -

 

The minute I woke up, my head was throbbing with pain. A decent-sized knob was forming on the back of my head, and I was furious as hell. My vision blurred in and out and as I stood up, I reached for the handle of the sink, turned the faucet on, then splashed some water in my face. There were two paramedics there then, banging at the door.

“Hello? Mr. Winchester? It’s the Whitesnake County Paramedics, so can you please open up, sir?”

I fumbled towards the door and opened it. My legs felt drained of weight and I fell down against the nightstand. The two of them looked to me then, but as the red-haired medic looked in the bathroom, he paused and became confused. He threw the door open slightly and almost slipped on the blood as he looked. It greased the bottom of his sole and he trekked it on the flooring.

“Mr. Winchester, I thought you said there was a female. I see the blood, but where is she at?” he asked.

As the other guy shined a flashlight on the back of my head, the light momentarily irked me. I bat his hand away and coughed. He gave me a bottle of water and as I took sips in between, I said, “I did say there was a girl here. That son-of-a-bitch took her. I was holding onto her, trying to keep her elevated and he must’ve knocked me out.”

“With what?”

I shrugged and scoffed openly. “How the hell am I supposed to know? I was out, remember?”

The other guy spoke to me then in a strict direction. “You have to stay still, Mr. Winchester, or else these stitches are going to look messy as all get out and I sure as hell don’t want to hear the board complain about it.”

As he used the suture to pierce through my scalp, I bat his hand away and groveled. The pain hurt, yeah, but it wasn’t anything that whiskey couldn’t cure. I’d do it John Wayne style and just drizzle it on there. But I was mad. I was pissed off. While these two idiots wasted my time, she was out there somewhere, being raped again or worse yet.

“To hell with what your board’s gonna think!” I shouted, standing up and grabbing my jacket. “He took her and drug her off somewhere. Now, you two can clean up or do whatever you’d like, but I’m going to go find her! I’ve had it! I’m done waiting…”

It wasn’t long before I heard them object that I was already out the front door. “Mr. Winchester!”

 

\---

 

I went back to the cemetery and kept heading back to the point where the road curved and I found another secluded drive. I pulled in and turned off Baby, but kept a low profile as I saw cops were just across the way on another county road. With my hammer and lock pick, I went back towards Rochelle’s mausoleum. Just as I figured, it was chained now. Local cops must’ve saw fit to finally keep it under lock and key.

But no matter. I’d just be in and out.

When I walked up behind it from the right side, I went round the corner and managed to pick the lock open. The chains shuffled to the ground and then, dust from around the hinges flew off and became an apparent cloud. I coughed once, but was caught off-guard. I wasn’t expecting her to manhandle me yet again.

I was pulled violently into the mausoleum and thrown against the wall. With the way I hit it, the force of my back made an indent and cracked it. I thudded to the ground and coughed again.

“ _Winchester_ ,” she said, this time crying. “ _Where is my baby! You said you’d bring him back to me!_ ”

I looked up and towards the direction where I heard her voice. This time as I looked at her, she was more deteriorated. Her flesh was gaunt over the bones, and her cheeks protruded, giving her a sulken look; her eye sockets were darkened and her lips were shaking, quivering. The beads of her wedding dress had fallen off and were scattered on the floor. The train was torn now and bloodied. Clearly she had seen better days.

“ _I want my baby back! Adrian stole him from me and that’s all I want… I want my baby boy back in my arms_ ,” she complained. “ _I tried to hurt Adrian, tried to keep my son here, but being dead, what could I do?_ ”

I stood up slowly and balanced myself on her closed casket. My shoulder blade hurt like hell, blood was dripping from my lip. I’d just about had it with her. She was getting closer and closer, and with the rage she was building up, all the hurt, I could’ve sworn I saw ectoplasm forming where she floated. I backed up and withdrew an iron bar.

“Look, I need to ask you something and I’m only gonna ask the question once. You help me and I’ll help you. I’ll get your baby back and put the two of you to rest, okay? Just help me…”

Rochelle paused. The bleeding in her wedding dress ceased and she came to a halt. “ _What’s the question?_ ”

I cleared my throat but lowered the iron. “Sorry. Favor more like. I need to borrow both your corpse and your wedding dress. My question is… may I have your permission to use them?”

Now fearful, she backed away. Her brows, or whatever was left of them, pulled together and her lips fell open, trembling. She was actually afraid. Even in death, she seemed frightened of what could happen. She held out a hand and said, “ _You can’t do that to her, Dean. She needs to break free of her own will. Even if you wanted to help Veronica, you can’t._ ” Rochelle’s voice fell low and grew intensely soft. “ _She’s already his, remember? He broke her in and now… it’s almost impossible to tell what she’s going to do_.”

I kept the iron at my side and watched as red tears fell from her eyes. The blood fell down her slender pale cheeks and onto the beaded front of her dress. Her rage died down and the ectoplasm dissipated. The leaves outside of the mausoleum scattered in and there was a brisk cold coming in. Rochelle shook her head and walked towards her casket. With one push, she threw it open and lifted the hand of her own corpse.

“ _Do whatever you can, Dean_ ,” she cried. “ _Take my corpse and my dress if you need to. Do whatever you can to help your girl. Just bring my baby boy back to me. I don’t care anymore about what happens to Adrian. I’ve waited too long for him to come back to me, and now, I see that loving him was the most beautiful and wrong thing to do_.”

“Rochelle, wait!”

Before I could say another word, she disappeared. She faded into the wall of the mausoleum and as the cathedral train of her dress slunk away, the beads fell, one by one and formed into small crystals of mist. The faded white turned dark and there were nothing but shadows on the floor. The wind died down too and the leaves stopped scattering. Nevertheless, she’d given me permission and now would be the time to go, as the cop’s sirens were going off.

I cracked the rest of the casket open and pulled her out. She was nothing but bone now, having been dead for seventeen years. It was a massively heavy dress she wore, and so it felt like a ton I had to pull out, with the train falling behind. There was no veil, and when I started to walk out of the mausoleum, I had to stop quickly and watch the cop car pass by. If he saw me with her corpse, I’d definitely be arrested. But now wasn’t the time. I had to get back to the county road somehow and get back to Veronica before that nasty son-of-a-bitch could do any more harm to her.


	12. Chapter 12

I didn’t know whether or not if Dean was going to come from out of nowhere again. He had done so before, but I didn’t know if this was going to work. I was already sure of the decision I’d made, and now, I knew there wasn’t anything else to do but wait and see what would happen. In the room where I was now kept, I saw myself standing before a body-length mirror in its Baroque antique frame. The brass held up the glass, and as I looked inside, I saw how long my face seemed. My lips were quivering, my arms and legs pale and shaking.

In the glass I saw a girl— _no, rather the shell of a youth ready to die. Her hair strung over her shoulders and waved, her eyes aligned with streaks of black. The flesh pale and sunken almost and bruised with pleasure-pain. God, I thought to myself. How the hell could I have been so stupid to think this was going to end well? Right— because it most definitely wouldn’t_. But now, I was prepared to let the past die. I was prepared to take control of the present now, or rather, whatever was left of it.

The moment I shuddered for the last time, I exhaled. The ring Adrian had given me was on a silver chain round my throat and dangling. When I began to remember how he sounded when Dean had taken me away before, shivers ran all over my body. I’d never heard such blood-curdling screams of pain, screams of panic, of hate combined. I thought I was mad, but then again after being in and out of mental institutions, I finally did not care anymore. I plucked the chain from round my throat and looked at myself in the mirror once more. Slowly but surely with hints of remorse, I slid the gold band onto my finger.

The door shut behind me and I turned around. Adrian was standing there, of course. He was promptly dressed in his leather jacket, his bullet belt and black cowboy boots. His hair was now changed somehow, and was a soft-looking greyish-white with a silver tint. It hung on his head down to the shoulder-length style that was not hanging close to his face. It actually seemed more… appropriate for him, as his hair on top was brushed back. His body remained tall, half-sculpted and decayed. The smell of him was horrific, but I knew he couldn’t have noticed that; no, not if he was deceased for so long and had no more senses.

“ _Are you still mad at me?_ ” he asked.

He stepped closer but this time, I did not move. Even after all the shit he had done to me, yes I should have been mad. I should have teared into him, ripped him, but since the dogs and man’s hatred had already done that while he had lived, why would I care to do it now when his wounds still lingered on?

My lips were possessed by my inner thoughts then, and I knew once I said it I couldn’t take it back. “No.”

 _Veronica_ , I thought. _You must be fucking mad_. Adrian’s glassy eyes somehow created life and his mouth curved open in a half-impressed sigh. He came closer and then wrapped his arms around me. His moldering lips found my neck and somehow, something once again physically possessed me to hold him. I felt my heartbeat slow. I was no longer afraid, no longer concerned for my safety in the slightest. I looked up into his eyes and his hand found mine. He rose it high between us, and he spied the band there.

“ _I thought you hated me_ ,” he wheezed.

Then he started coughing— **violently**. He heaved to the side and covered his mouth, though the burliness and wheezes became worse in tone. He fell to his knees and hunched over. Dark, viscous blood smeared his hand. I looked closer as I drew near, but he tried to hide it. I could still see. In the palm of his hand were bits of… lung. Flesh followed with numerous clots. Flesh that was now rotted from the inside.

“ _Don’t… Don’t look at me please_ ,” he groveled. “ _Please, it— it’ll pass. You don’t need to see this_.”

I didn’t want to believe it, but a tear fell from the corner of my eye. I braved the stench of his rot long enough to get close. I held him from behind and brushed the silvery-grey hair away from his face. In a brave stance, I kissed his neck, just as he had done to me. The sympathy in me was coming around. Adrian looked over his shoulder back at me, and I saw the fear in his eyes. But he was already dead. Surely he couldn’t be afraid that he was to die again?

Through shallow wheezes, he started to whisper. “ _I’m so sorry… **Veronica**_.”

\---

When I helped Adrian back to his cot, I covered him. The sheet was perfumed in dry gasoline. The scent of it was still apparent but as he lay there, he couldn’t smell it. He couldn’t detect it. Whatever use of his smell was there, it was non-existent. His eyes were closed but his mouth was still open. The sight of his teeth were rotted but there was no legitimate breath. I tried to listen in and when I put my head to his chest, I felt something beneath the leather. It was rough, hard. In an instant of worry, I pulled the leather to the side.

On his half-grey, half-tanned chest, there was a scar. It was fresh and sewn messily. I wondered what he had done, whether or not he himself had stitched something of himself back together. My fingertips shakily moved over the incision point. Something inside me was compelled then to see, to look. I withdrew a scissors I had found in the other room from my pocket. Slowly, I snipped the horrible stitches and pulled his flesh apart. It did not cause him pain as his nerves were dead. He just lay there, ‘sleeping’ as it were. But I honestly could not have expected what I found though.

Inside his chest were a pair of half-healthy lungs. The veins were pinkish-blue, though the flesh was starting to wither. It occurred to me then that he had stolen these lungs from a living human being. Whether or not he harvested the other organs, I hadn’t a clue. But he must have, or else he wouldn’t be able to function as he was now. I didn’t want to think that he killed someone, but surely one did die. Adrian seemed flustered in his sleep and he started to shake. I instinctively threw my arms around him.

“Adrian… Adrian, look at me.”

He flashed his eyes open and my own widened. His scleras were now bloodshot, with dark veins protruding against the now-milky appearance of his eyes. His pupils remained in the same position, but now, for some ungodly reason, I shook my head. “No, no…”

“ _V-Ver_ …”

He couldn’t say my name. He tried to, but then another violent cough happened. I turned him onto his side and he started choking. I moved behind him then and wrapped my arms around his chest, performing the Heimlich maneuver. More tissue came from his lips. Only now, this time it was cartilage. Thick pieces fell onto the cold concrete flooring. I’d never seen so much blood and internal tissue before in my entire life.

With bright tears, I wept and cried out. “No! Oh God!”

He started to sob then and his ducts in his eyes must’ve detached. Dark-red leaked from either corner and he was exsanguinating. My throat was hurting then too. The stitches he put in started to come apart and I felt my own flesh pulling apart. I let go of him and clasped my hands to my neck. Tears formed quickly in my eyes and I realized that I wasn’t scared for myself anymore. In fact, I could care less; I was now worried for Adrian.

I pulled him against me and there I sobbed with him. We cried together, held together like entwined pieces of red string, and he rocked me back and forth. His lips, bloodied in their form, kissed my forehead. We bled together and he held me like that for minutes at a time until he lay me against his chest. With blood flowing out of my neck, he cupped the self-inflicted wounds I had made, and I passed out from the pain. He left me there and came back only moments later, with the suture coming again and it felt like I was dying slowly.

“ _I fucked up, baby girl. I’m so sorry_ …”

\---

An hour later, I awoke to the sound of the same tapping as before. I was out of it. I couldn’t tell fact from fiction, life from nightmare anymore. My world as I knew it was dead. The sound came from high above my head and the pane of glass, from what I could hear again, cracked. I didn’t have to look up to see who it was. It was like a spur of the moment that he showed up when he did. I wanted him to come in, and yet again, I didn’t.

“Veronica, hey! Hey, come outside!” he whispered.

I ran my fingers over my new stitching. The little bits of thread were more secure this time, and as I curled into Adrian’s side, I allowed a few tears to fall. The competence of his lungs seemed fragile and less than capable to produce and exhale new air. I knew he was dying again, if such a thing was possible. These organs would fail him and he’d be a corpse once more. But something in me was afraid. It was afraid for my dead rapist. I clutched onto Adrian and I could feel Dean’s eyes on me. He must’ve been confused, but I didn’t care.

But, I wanted it all to be over.

\---

I ran towards the door and luckily, the concrete wasn’t able to hold a single sound I made. The damp drips of the water in the rafters gave me cover. My fingers gripped the door handle and when I stepped outside, I didn’t close the door hard. Slowly, surely, I shut it to the point where Adrian wouldn’t be awakened by it.

Dean came around the corner then and I’d never felt someone take my wrist in their hand so fast. He drug me down the wet grass outside the bunker and he seemed worried.

“We need to get your ass out of here,” he said. “You get into my Impala and drive off. Take Baby down the road and head back into town. My room is at the _Saints and Sinners_ motel. It’s number 23. Go, now!”

I withdrew my hand from him. He looked confused then and he pulled his brows together. I shook my head no and when the moon came out from behind the clouds, it didn’t shadow my neck and then Dean was able to see my stitches. The blood was dried now from what I could feel and when I saw Dean’s eyes light up with shock, I knew then he’d do something erratic.

“What the hell did that bastard do to you? Did he try to patch you up?”

I nodded. I couldn’t lie to him and expect him to be convinced by something false. “Yes, but it’s okay…”

He shook his head and scoffed, as if he’d been punched in the balls. “Are you out of your mind? After all he’s done to you, you’re okay with him patching you up? Veronica!”

I stammered backwards and kept my head down. I placed my hands on my own forearms and shuddered. This was bullshit. This was too much to handle, and on top of it, I was confused as hell beyond the point of utter and complete understanding. But before I could say anything, Dean spoke.

“Look, I know this has been a crazy couple of days, but I need you to help me with something.”

I looked at him once and he started to take me over to his Impala. He opened the back door slowly and started to pull something out of the back seat. I wondered what it was, but as he held the piece of fabric in his arms, I knew then what it was— it was Rochelle’s wedding dress, torn, bloodied and aged in time.

I laughed once at Dean and said, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, right?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the inspiration for [Rochelle's wedding dress.](https://axi-media.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/80s-wedding-gowns-dress-these-are-the-most-80-s-you-can-get-new-80-wedding-dresses-of-80-wedding-dresses.jpg)

When I had it on, I felt unnerved. I felt _her_ in the dress, felt how she must’ve been so happy on the day she tried it on and bought it. I felt her presence in the fabric with my own and somehow, the dress clung to my body as if it were handcrafted to my specification. Dean had the bodice patched up and sewn, and I knew what he intended. He wanted to use me as a decoy, and while I took the clothes off I had before, he had never told me of what he intended to do with those.

“Dean, I look like Barbara Maitland from Beetlejuice…”

“You got any better ideas?”

I wasn’t going to wear the veil, as it was too much for me. When I had her dress on, Dean was zipping me up in the back. The dress slimmed me down and the cathedral-length train wove around my ankles in white splendor. It was awkward, but at the same time, it… felt right. I didn’t want to admit and nor could I. It’d destroy Dean if he heard it. He was already pissed I could tell. And the only way I could tell that, is because he wouldn’t look me in the eye.

“Dean, I wish you’d say something…”

He buttoned the top of the dress’ back and then walked around. After twenty minutes, he finally made eye contact with me. His gaze was a mix of pissed and hurt. I knew deep down he’d probably never understand my judgment now, but I was at peace with that. I would let him be mad. But as he finished glaring at me, he started to walk over towards the back of Baby’s trunk. He opened it and withdrew some of my clothes. I was confused at this and I had no idea. Unless…

He had the backseat door of his Impala opened before I could even say anything. He moved around and shifted inside, his one knee on the seat and the other foot grounded solid. I had to lift the heavy front of the dress in order to move. I walked around the corner of the car and saw what he was doing. There, right in front of me, was the previous owner of the dress I now wore. Her decayed corpse, half-beautiful, half-grotesque, was now wearing one of my old dresses. It was a sweetheart-lined bodice with a ball-gown flare to it. The tulle of the gown swept against the car door and it made a light creaking noise.

“What? Are you out of your mind? Adrian will see her and he’s going to lose his shit,” I protested. “He’s literally only a hundred feet away and resting in that bunker!”

Dean rested Rochelle’s body on the ground. She smelled perfumed, was cleaned and well— she looked almost living, despite how badly she had rotted. He had gone through a lot of time and put in a lot of effort for someone who didn’t even know he existed. I stood there confused and perplexed altogether.

“Look,” Dean began. “We’ve only got one chance to nab this bastard. I know this is going to be one corny-ass plan, but it’s the best I can think of. If he sees you in that wedding dress, and then with his actual fiancée beside you, he’s gonna get confused. And while he stands there with his brain going to hell, I’m going to sneak up behind him, then salt and burn his ass. It’s gonna be grim and gnarly, I know, but it’s all I can think of.”

\---

I shook my head in moderate disbelief. “This won’t work, Dean. He may be dead but he’s not stupid. He’s grown more intelligent since… coming back.”

“Look, I’m trying to do the best I can with what I’ve got…”

I would’ve voiced more of my opinion, but it was hard to do. Especially now that the door to the bunker opened and creaked. The Impala hadn’t been running and the engine was turned off. However, that didn’t stop Adrian from looking around. Dean grabbed me by the wrist and immediately lifted the back of the train. We shuffled as quickly and as quietly as we could, but of course, the heavy shuffling gave us away.

The train was so heavy. I tried to move in the dress but couldn’t. I lost my footing in the dark, and I fell, fell down the side of the hill and Dean tried to catch me. His hand had my arm for a moment but then he too lost his footing, and we both took a small tumble. The snapping of twigs and small fallen branches gave us away. I could hear Adrian calling out for me again.

“ _Veronica! Where— where are you?_ ”

Oh fuck, I thought. I stood back up and in the midst of it all, a shot came directly from behind me. I hunched down and covered my head with both arms and screamed. Dean looked over his shoulder and withdrew his own gun. He had it aimed in the direction where the gunfire came, and when we both looked, it wasn’t Adrian. Instead, it was an older man, one wearing a badge and with a revolver in hand.

Dean spoke first. “Officer Beverley? What are you doing out here?”

The old man coughed once and then lowered his gun. I stood upright again and I could’ve sworn he thought he was seeing double. His eyes loomed over me and as I felt him eyeballing me in the dress, there was an odd tension. He spurted out his words and shook his head, almost cliche in a morning cartoon. As he stood on the hill in the middle of it, there was still quite a distance between the three of us.

“Had a report come in that your ass broke into Miss Laurent’s mausoleum, and that her dress,” he said knowingly, now staring me down in the eye, “had disappeared along with her baby. Damn it, I knew this case was gonna come back to haunt me. What’s wrong with you, son? You two sick in the head or somethin’? Is this a little charade or a joke?”

I licked my lips quickly and added my two cents. “Sir, this isn’t a game. Please, you should leave. It’s not safe around here and he’s going to be coming around any second!”

Beverley stammered. “W-who?”

It didn’t take very long for a crunching sound to enter the air. It wasn’t a crunch made by the sound of dead tree limbs being broken, no— it was the sound of a rib cage being torn into. Beverley dropped his gun and thudded to the ground. His chest had been abruptly wedged open from the back out, and a hand, smeared with blood and small bits of flesh, now punctured its way through his sternum and out the front. I screamed and started to hyperventilate. I had seen too much of death, but now in the wake of it all, I knew I shouldn’t have been surprised but I was mortified. Dean started to shoot towards the dark. Flashes from the end of the gun lit up the scenery, and all I could see was the officer’s body fallen on the ground. He seemed completely torn up, like the scenes from _Alien_. I couldn’t move or breathe.

\---

“Veronica, run!” Dean hollered.

I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed with fear, with anxiety. Every bit of my body was numb and I couldn’t feel much of anything anymore. Still he kept shooting until he ran out of bullets. He pulled out a new magazine from his pocket and started to reload his firearm.

“Damn it, why aren’t you running!”

“I’m done,” I whispered. “I’m done with this shit…”

He went completely still and looked at me over his shoulder. “What?”

I kept the ring on my finger and somehow, managed to walk towards Dean. I shook my head and let a few fresh tears fall down my face. Adrian was coming down the hill now and he seemed almost… blind. He was reaching out for me with a bloody hand, whilst his other arm was filled with the calcified corpse of his child. The rancid odor trekked its way into my nostrils and I shuddered. He started to cry out for me again.

Dean threw an arm in front of me and started to push me back. He was so persistent and now, I knew he’d be desperate to do anything in order to keep me safe. But, I was done as mentioned before. I didn’t want to continue with this cat-and-mouse game with a corpse and his memories. I wanted to be free and I knew that it wouldn’t be for as long as I lived. I threw Dean out of the way and lifted the front of the dress. I started to carry myself towards Adrian, whose eyes were now bloodier than before.

“Veronica, what the hell are you doing!”

Through watering eyes, I managed to utter three very soft words. “Saving your life.”

I reached out with both hands. Adrian came down to the bottom of the hill and started to wail again, this time with his voice on the mend of a gravelly tone. He seemed hurt like before, but this howling seemed worse. His face was now completely deteriorated and his lips were molded. Cuts formed on his face and there was nothing left of him that seemed completely human. At last, I took Adrian into my arms.

 _“Veronica?_ ”

“I’m here,” I whispered. “I’m here now.”

He placed the dead child on the ground and then wrapped me up in his arms. “ _Baby girl, I can’t see anymore_ …”

I brushed his hair out of his face and started to wrap my arms around his neck. I was able to withstand the smell of his rot for a time being, and when he started to hide his nose in the side of my throat, I could hear him wheezing worse and could feel his tears run. I shushed him and kissed the exposed cheekbone on the right side of his face.

“Veronica, are you out of your mind?” Dean coughed, gagging. “Get away from him!”

I turned around and finally let my lips move. “I’m done, Dean! I’m done with this, and I’m done with life. Don’t be like my mother, please. I couldn’t do a damn thing under her watch and I feel more so like a fuck-up. I’m cracked, I’m broken. I can’t be fixed and I don’t want to be fixed. I’m done, Dean. Just take the baby back to its mother and let me be.”

“V-Veronica? What are you…? No, no! _Goddamn it, no!_ ”

I looked back at Adrian, whose lips were now bleeding black. I leaned forward and kissed them willingly, lovingly even. I felt my own tears fall for the last time. I moved my lips to Adrian’s ear and said my final piece. “Adrian, baby— take my heart out, please. Take it out and keep it.”

He tried to look for me and as he rested one hand on my face, I felt the worst pain yet. He grunted once as he shifted his hand to break through my sternum. The force of his brutality entered me and I felt his whole hand wrap around my heart. I stopped crying as he kissed me.

Adrian whispered to me then, “ _ **We belong dead**_.”

Darkness came into my sights then, and as I felt myself dying, Dean cried out and shouted my name. I fell against Adrian and then suddenly, as my heart was being torn from my chest, I was no longer hurting. 

 ---

_(TO BE CONTINUED and CONCLUDED...)_

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

-Dean’s POV-

I couldn’t believe what he just did. She was lying right there. Dead. Right there in his lap, bloodied and broken in the chest cavity, that poor girl was dead. Only, she wasn’t mine anymore. She had chosen to be for Adrian. Whatever possessed her to make that decision though was beyond me. Her sternum was cracked and the bone was exposed. I could’ve killed the son-of-a-bitch myself were he not dead already.

I stood up then and withdrew a chain from my jacket pocket. It was long, slender and made of pure iron. Though he was a corpse, it wouldn’t do any good. It would still make for a good grip. I lunged myself at him and he dropped the calcified kid and Veronica fell down and onto the ground. Her body went limp and I could see how fresh her tears still were. They stained her cold white face and looked like ice.

“You stupid, stupid son-of-a-bitch!”

He thudded against the ground and then I managed to swing around behind him, starting to choke him and pull on his nasty neck. He grunted, coughed, with blood coming out of his throat a dark viscous color. He tried to fight back and when his hand gripped my leg, he pulled me down and started to thrash. His gnarled hands found my neck and he started to squeeze. I choked and couldn’t breathe, and everything was turning blacker by the second.

I kneed him in the balls thinking that would help, but it didn’t. “Get the hell off of me!”

I was pissed. I was feeling five million emotions at the same time and I was finding it damn hard to concentrate. The bastard’s grip only tightened like a rattlesnake coil, and I found myself losing oxygen. I wished Sammy were here, but he was off in college being a typical nerd. Perhaps this was for the best. It’d been so long since I’d had family to back me, but now I was all alone. There wasn’t anyone left to help me, and no one human around to save my sad sorry ass. I tried kneeing the bastard again but found it pointless.

I was about to gasp when suddenly I felt the rush of a presence loom over me. It swept Heartthorn off of me and knocked him back away, whereas he started to roll down the hill even further in the pitch dark. I looked around as I started to inhale. A few more coughs came and my vision came back to being clearer.

I sat up and saw what it was that came to my aid. In the fifteen feet in front of me, there she stood in the same outfit she’d been wearing in the newspaper photo. It was Rochelle who stood there and I wondered why. But I didn’t even have to ask. Her eyes seemed lonesome and she must’ve been pissed off still. Without saying a word, I stood up and hunched over for a few seconds.

“ _Dean_ …”

I let a hand fly up once and then I walked over to where Veronica lay. Beside her lay the baby. I took off my plaid shirt and wrapped it up in a bundle. Rochelle’s decrepit form started to shift back into what she looked like when still alive. Her skin looked visibly softer, her lips, eyes, nose and cheeks full. Her long, slender arms reached out and as I walked over towards her, it looked as if she had finally found someone who was decent enough to help her. I passed her the baby and she held it close to her chest. She cradled it closer and closer, and began to rock it in her arms. Tears of blood flowed from her eyes, and then, they became translucent as she regained a ‘human’ form once again.

“We even now?” I asked, my voice cracking only once.

Rochelle’s hair blew in the wind and the impending breeze picked up. Her once-terrifying eyes looked into mine and she started to cry. The baby, while dead, seemed to be the only thing that made her happy. She looked from me to Veronica then, and her smile died. Her brows pulled together and she shifted over towards Veronica’s body. She shook her head and let a soft reverberation of words.

“ _I’m so sorry, Dean. I wish it hadn’t come to this. I rather liked her. I just… I wish that I could take it all back. If I had never met Adrian and if he had never had the thought to think that she was me, this would never have happened. I feel like I got her killed, and because of that, I am so very sorry_.”

I shook my head and muttered, “It’s too damn late for that. All I want is to find something personal of his to salt and burn.”

Rochelle clenched her baby to her breast with one arm, and then, with the other, touched my shoulder and began to leave memories in my head. Throughout the course of the sharing, I saw where she had hidden some of Heartthorn’s belongings. She’d buried them out by an old tree, right within its roots. She had hidden away his jacket, a photo, and surprisingly enough, one of his infamous guitars. I grew nauseous as hell from her touch, but she released me then and backed away.

“ _The tree you can’t miss. It’s off the road where they killed him_ ,” she sighed. “ _Drive down right and then pull into that small hazel thicket. It’s old and dead now, and its bark is blackened. Like I said, you can’t miss it. Good-bye, Dean._ ”


End file.
